24601
by Tron45
Summary: Clara Oswald has been a slave in the nation of Gallifrey her whole life. Cruelty is all that she has known from her masters. But when she is purchased by a man, only known as the Doctor, her whole life changes. She is no longer beaten mercilessly, and is treated with respect. But who is the Doctor, and what secret is he hiding? AU. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This story uses my concept for the twelfth Doctor. I am not BBC, so I do not own any of the names that are used in this story. I am also not whoever owns the two portions of lyrics from "Look Down" that I used. The other lyrics are mine, though. And extra points for those of you who recognize where the number 24601 comes from.

Clara Oswald looked out in the sea of gruff, cruel faces in front of her. Many of the men who had come to buy slaves had stubble across their chins, if not full beards. One thing they all had in common, though, was that none of them looked very kind. Some of the men in the crowd were staring at her with lust all over their faces. It wasn't the first time this had happened to her. Even with her ribs prominent against her skin, and cuts and bruises all over her body, men's minds went places she didn't dare go. Clara just kept her head down and stayed silent. There was nothing she could do. She was a slave-had been ever since she was born. Good for nothing except to do the chores that others weren't willing to do.

One by one, slaves of both genders were brought up to the stage and sold before being led off. Finally, it was Clara's turn.

"Look down. Look down.

Don't look him in the eye," she sang softly, so low that nobody seemed to hear her.

"Look down. Look down.

You're here until you die." The song was a bit of a funeral dirge for the slaves. Long ago, during the early days of the Time War, called so because it went on so long that many believed it would continue for all time, somebody had made it as a work-chantey to be sung whenever their masters weren't around.

She got up on the stage and the bidding began. She was eventually priced at five thousand credits by a particularly cruel looking man. Clara only needed to glance at him to know that his thoughts were not pleasant ones.

"Ten thousand," a man in the back shouted. Every head turned to look at him. Even Clara lifted her head up to look, only to have it beat down by the auctioneer's meaty fist. The single glance he was able to steal of the man wasn't much, but she was able to tell that he stood fairly tall, but no more than six feet high. To her small five-and-a half foot frame, that was almost a giant. She had tried to see his face, but hadn't been able to. He wore a dark jacket with a hood that covered it in shadows, preventing her from getting a good look.

The cruel man from before immediately bid fifteen thousand credits. The two bid back and forth like that for two minutes, until Clara's price had climbed all the way to fifty thousand credits. Clara had to admit, with a small smile to herself, that she was somewhat proud that people were willing to pay that much for her.

Finally, the man with the hood pushed up to the front of the crowd and jumped up onto the stage. Lowering his hood, the man revealed to Clara a clean shaven face, save his sideburns, chocolate brown eyes, and dark shaggy hair.

The auctioneer was about to call for guards to remove the man from the stage, but before he could, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of credit sticks, dropping them at the auctioneer's feet.

"One hundred thousand credits," he said plainly, his face betraying no emotion. The cruel man in the crowd opened his mouth to bid again, but the man on stage pulled out another fistful of credits from his pocket, dropping them as well. "Two hundred thousand." He continued to do this until five hundred thousand credits lay in a pile at the auctioneer's feet. He looked about ready to faint from the sheer amount of money that he was about to collect. Nobody bid on Clara after the man was done.

While the auctioneer bent over to collect his money and finalize the sale, the man turned and looked at Clara, who immediately looked down to the floor, as was expected of slaves. The man placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up, looking into her eyes. Clara expected to see the same lust as in everyone else's eyes, but only found a gentle, loving twinkle.

"Never cruel or cowardly," he said softly. "Never give up. Never give in."

Clara said nothing, though her curiosity about the man's statement was plain. He smiled. It was a kind smile, genuine. It didn't make him look like a sadist who would work her to the bone, instead making it appear that he was actually kind to the people who worked under him.

"That's who I am," he said. "That's the promise I've made. What I've done today is not out of fear, or hatred, or lust; instead, I've done it in the name of that promise. In the name of peace. In the name of sanity. But not in my name. Not in the name of the Doctor."

The Doctor kept smiling, and waved the guards off when they came to shackle Clara back up. He led her down the stage and over to a horse-drawn coach. A woman met him there, standing roughly as tall as the Doctor. Her black dress fell down to just above the muddy ground, though she seemed to take no notice. Her shining emerald eyes looked from the Doctor to Clara and back again. "I heard the price you had to pay for her," she said, her voice slurred by some accent Clara couldn't place. "I assume that it was the Master you were bidding against."

"You would be correct, Vashtra." The Doctor handed Clara off to Vashtra. "See to it that she is taken care of. Have Martha tend to whatever wounds she may have. Assign her quarters and make sure that she is fed properly."

Vashtra nodded. "At once." Vashtra helped Clara into the carriage and let her sit down next to her. Clara winced in pain as she leaned back in her seat. The slave master who had brought her to the auction had not been sparing with the whip on the way there, and she could still feel the pain. The seats were as soft as a cloud, upholstered in leather as only a rich man would have, but that didn't stop the pain.

Vashtra noticed and took down a few notes in the portfolio she had in her lap. The Doctor, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. He only watched the muddy countryside underneath the layer of grey clouds that dominated the sky as they rode to wherever he called home.

Barely an hour later, the coach pulled up and stopped in front of a well-cared for, but old mansion. Clara took a minute to appreciate the beauty of it. Every bit of stone was laid perfectly. It rose three stories high and stretched for a good half mile across. Ivy and moss grew naturally across the worn masonry, but it seemed almost as if they had been placed in their precise places as decorations.

The Doctor stepped out of the coach, followed by Vashtra and Clara. His long, sturdy legs carried him up the stairs much quicker than the two ladies. Clara had to stifle a slight blush as she realized that she had been staring at the Doctor's behind. She had to admit, it was a rather nice-looking behind. His dark blue jeans hugged it just tight enough for her to clearly see it. _No, bad Clara_, she shouted in her mind. _He's not a guy you can even think of falling in love with. He's your master, not your crush. He owns you._

_Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that he has a really nice butt,_ her mind seemed to say back to her. Clara must have been blushing pretty badly, because Vashtra cracked a bit of a smile looking at her. Thank goodness, though, the Doctor's back was still to the both of them and he didn't notice the exchange.

The front doors were opened by a man who looked a bit older than the Doctor, but he was still young himself. He stood no more than two inches taller than the Doctor, and had jet black hair, which matched his suit perfectly.

"Welcome home, sir," the butler said in a clean accent like the Doctor's. "I trust that the trip was fruitful."

"It was," the Doctor said, turning to look at Clara. "Jack, this is Clara Oswald. Clara Oswald, Jack Harkness." The two nodded silently to each other. It was greeting enough for now. They would have time for proper introductions when their work was done.

The Doctor turned back to Jack. "Take Clara to the quarters I had you prepare. I trust you kept that bath warm like I asked you to."

"Per your instructions. As always sir."

"Good man. Take her up, let her bathe, and fetch Martha. Have her take a look at Clara, make sure she doesn't need any serious medical attention." The Doctor walked off to another part of the house after giving his instructions.

"And tell Martha that I noticed Clara experienced some back pain when she rode in the coach today. Have her take a look."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack responded with a nod of his head. He gestured with his arm. "If you'll follow me, miss." Clara followed him up the marble steps, taking in the richness of the house. She looked around at the various paintings and tapestries until her eyes fell upon a crest emblazoned in gold upon white ivory. The moment she saw it, she recognized what family it belonged to.

"The Williams Family," she all but shouted. Jack gave her a look that conveyed both fear and the desperate need for her to shut up. He looked around to see if anybody had heard her outburst. Thankfully, nobody did.

"Rule of thumb around here, Clara," Jack said quietly, "Don't mention the Williams family. It's true that that's their crest, but the estate was left to the Doctor in the instance of their death. They were really close friends of his, you see. Their deaths were pretty hard on him."

"Then why does he keep their crest there?"

"Because he does his best to honor their memory. Look, just don't mention them and you'll do fine." Jack finished leading Clara up to her room on the second floor. Steam rose from the stone bathtub in the washroom, and Clara was aching to soak in the first warm bath she'd had in ages. It was only Jack's presence in the room that kept her from stripping down then and there.

"You're bath is still warm, so I'll get out of here for you. Martha will be coming in a few minutes to give you a physical. I'll see you later." With that, Jack turned and shut the door to her room.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor was in his study, going over some "important" papers, as Vashtra had put it. Apparently, there were some things that needed tending to in portions of the Williams estate. From what he could see, it looked to the Doctor that the issues the foremen were complaining about had fairly simple solutions, solutions he took the liberty of writing down in responses to the foremen.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in." The door opened, and Rose, a young lady of twenty years old with blonde hair that wore the same blue dress as all of the other servants at the house, came in with a tray of sandwiches and coffee.

"My mum overheard Madam Vashtra saying something about a rough day, so she made this for ya," she said setting the tray down on the table next to him.

"Thank you, Rose." Nodding her head, Rose left to take care of whatever else she had to do, leaving the Doctor to enjoy his food and finish his own work. In a matter of minutes he was done, so he passed the time by sitting in front of the fire in his favorite arm chair with a book while he ate. His silent reprieve was interrupted, however, when Vashtra entered the room in a hurry.

"Doctor, you wished to be informed of Miss Oswald's progress?" she asked, composing herself a bit.

"That's right. Is something the matter?" The Doctor sat up a bit straighter, afraid that something was wrong with Clara. It wasn't like he thought she was pretty or anything; he was always concerned with the wellbeing of those who worked in his house.

"Martha has just put in a request for antibiotics that can stave off infection. According to her, Miss Oswald has a minor infection due to multiple lacerations on her back that she discovered when she examined her. It is her professional opinion that these lacerations were caused by a slave master's whip."

"Is it anything to be concerned about?" the Doctor asked.

"She doesn't seem to think so. She says that no more than three weeks of rest, food, and antibiotics should bring Clara back to full health. She is currently asleep in her quarters. I must say, she is quite the Impossible Girl."

The Doctor looked at his assistant. "Impossible Girl," he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, it's a nickname I've developed for her. After all, she has survived against terrible odds."

"Why do I get the feeling that there's more to that nickname?" the Doctor asked suspiciously.

"I cannot answer that, Sir," Vashtra replied. She tried to keep her tone business-like, but the Doctor had known her for too many years. Beneath her sly smile was a secret that she was keeping, one that he would find out if it killed him.

"Well, when she wakes up, let me know. Let her rest, as well. I don't want to see her working until Martha has cleared her for it."

Vashtra nodded her head. "Of course, Doctor." Vashtra looked at the portfolio in her arms. "I also came to tell you that the Celebration Day Ball is coming up in a little more than a month. It has been... requested... by the house of Rassilon that the Williams Estate host it this year."

"By requested, you mean that Rassilon basically invited himself over for a night of partying at our expense."

Vashtra couldn't help but smile a little bit at the Doctor's dry humor. "Essentially, yes. Jenny has volunteered to help me plan it, if that is acceptable."

"Sure, why not. I'll probably just be in here or in my room the whole time anyway."

"Doctor," Vashtra said, reproachfully, "you know that everyone will need to see their host. You've gotten out of attending the other balls in the past, but this year, you will have to interact with everyone."

"Says who? It's my house, and technically, my party, so I don't think Rassilon can have any say in where I am during it."

"Doctor, I know what Celebration Day means to you personally, but I beg of you to move on." Vashtra no longer sounded reproachful. Now she sounded like the friend that she was, trying to help the man who had helped her in so many ways.

"You can't ask me to move on from that," the Doctor growled, no longer looking at her, instead staring into the dancing tongues of fire that provided both heat and light to the room. "You may know the story, but you don't know what my life was like. The only people who can understand are dead. You can't ask me to move on from the hell that I had to live in for so many years."

Vashtra wanted to say more, but she could see in the Doctor's eyes that he had closed the discussion. There would be no more talk, at least not this evening. Dipping her head slightly, Vashtra turned and walked out of the study shutting the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Three and a half weeks later, Clara was out of bed and on her feet. The infection had disappeared and all that remained of the gashes were the scars. They were reminders of her status in life that would stay with her forever. When she was younger, her mother would have traced her fingers across the scars, and tell her that they were badges of honor, that she wasn't willing to become whatever her masters wanted her to be.

But her mother was dead now-overworked during the Time War. She wasn't around to tell her that any more. The fact was that her spirit was broken. After so many years, they had finally broken Clara Oswald. She was no longer the girl who looked for the chance to show everyone her attitude. Now, she just looked down and accepted her fate. There was nothing she could do to change her fate.

"Look down. Look down.

You'll always be a slave," she sang softly to herself.

"Look down. Look down.

You're standing in your grave."

Clara straightened her blue dress, the same kind that Martha and every other female servant in the house wore. It was made of a nice fabric that felt smooth against her skin, as opposed to the coarse fabrics she was used to. Clean clothes, good food, decent rest periods, and consistent hot baths were just a few things that the Doctor made sure that each and every one of his servants had, and that rule had extended to Clara.

She was supposed to be attached to the Doctor, in the background, listening to any cues he may drop as to what he needed. It wasn't the worst job that she had ever been assigned, but when she thought about what it entailed, it felt a little inhuman that she was going to be essentially the Doctor's personal servant.

Straightening her back, Clara walked out of her room and made her way to the Doctor's study where he was supposedly working with Vashtra to plan the Celebration Day ball that was coming up. She entered the study and found the Doctor sitting across from Vashtra, arguing over what type of food should be served on the night of the event.

"No, Doctor. It won't do to simply have the same hors d'oeuveres that are served at every other ball. Especially since Rassilon and his family have recently begun a new diet."

"I've already expressed how little interest I have in this whole thing, so why should I care what Rassilon doesn't like to eat?"

Vashtra would have said something else, but she turned her head to see Clara standing in front of the doorway. "Ah, Miss Oswald. How good of you to come so promptly. If you would be so kind as to go down to the kitchen and pick up the tray that Jackie should have ready?"

"Of course, Ma'am." Clara turned and walked to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. She made her way to the kitchen, picking up the tray that had a fresh pizza, one half vegetarian, and one half piled with meats, olives, mushrooms, and pineapple.

"When you give it to 'em," Rose was telling Clara, "it'll look professional if you put the meat side in front of the Doctor, and the veggies in front of Vashtra. That way, they don't have to swap it around after you set it down."

Clara nodded her thanks and made her way back to the Doctor's study. She set the tray down on the table between the two, trying her best to ignore the argument going on between the two as she did so. The Doctor paused momentarily to thank Clara before asking her, quite politely, Clara had to note, to get a pot of coffee and a pot of tea from the kitchen. Clara obeyed, and with machine like efficiency, poured the Doctor and Vashtra's respective drinks.

"How do you take your coffee, sir," she asked her master.

"White with lots of sweetener, thank you."

"And you, Madame? Your tea?"

"Plain, thank you."

In a minute and a half, Clara handed the two of them their hot drinks, silently waiting for approval. Vashtra seemed quite pleased, but since Jackie knew what tea Vashtra liked, and Clara hadn't added anything to it, it wasn't surprising. The Doctor took an experimental sip and seemed to think about its flavor. For a minute, Clara was afraid he would throw the mug at her in a fit of rage. Instead, he looked at her calmly.

"I don't know what you did differently to this, Clara," he said, "but this has to be the best cup of coffee I've had in some time. Thank you." He raised his mug at her, almost as if her were toasting the servant. Clara couldn't help but smile a little bit. "I think that's it for now." The Doctor looked at the watch on his left wrist. "The servant lunch should be served in about thirty minutes. Tell you what, take the time 'til then off. I'll call you if I need you." Clara nodded silently and took the empty trays from the table before leaving for the kitchen. She had to admit, the Doctor was not as cruel or heartless as many of her former masters had been. He actually seemed to care.

While she sat with the other servants at the tables in the kitchen, she asked around about the Doctor. Nobody seemed to have anything negative to say about him.

"He's the kindest, most caring man I've ever known," Donna Noble, the fiery red-headed baker said.

"I've worked in a lot of houses as a cook," Jackie had told her. "When the Doctor brought me in, I didn't expect to get any respect from him. Nobody else gave me any, so why should he be any different? But the first day on the job, he sat me down, and poured me a cup of coffee. I should have done that for him, but he did it for me. He started asking questions about my life, where I'd come from, if I had any family. I told him I had a cousin, Ianto, who was also a servant. He asked if I'd like to see Ianto again, to which I replied yes, and two weeks later, the Doctor invited the family that owned Ianto over for a week, and he gave me that time off, on the condition I spent time catching up with Ianto. The Doctor didn't even know those people well, didn't spend any time over. He was mostly alone in his study. He just did it so I could see my cousin again."

Over and over, Clara heard stories of how the Doctor took the time to get to know each and every one of the workers in his house. Clara was finding it harder and harder to hate this man. He was just too nice. Finally, Clara received a call from the Doctor to come to his study. Clara made her way to the now familiar room and found the Doctor sitting in front of a pot of tea, apparently still warm, judging by the steam coming from the spout.

"Please, Clara, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him. Clara obeyed and looked at the Doctor, who, surprisingly, stood to pour her a cup of tea. "Cream or sugar?"

"Just a little bit of each, thanks." Clara immediately regretted how she had spoken. The words had come out as though the Doctor were her peer, not her master as he truly was. The Doctor seemed to notice how ashamed she was, because when he handed her the tea, he placed a reassuring hand on top of hers. His skin was calloused, but not so much that it was abrasive against her own. Whatever he did in his spare time, the Doctor did it often enough to develop toughened skin on his hands.

"Don't feel like you have to follow social protocol, Clara. Not here. Not now." The Doctor sat back down. "For now, I want us to forget our social standings. Right now, I am simply a man, and you are simply a woman. No titles. Just people." Clara nodded her head in understanding. "Tell me about yourself, Clara."

"There isn't much to tell. I've been a slave most of my life. So were my parents. They were leather workers in the Time War."

"Did you do any work during the war?"

"A little bit, but I was sold a little bit after my mum died. She was just overworked, and the Time War was over, so they got rid of me."

"I too had... experiences during the Time War."

"What kind of experiences, if you don't mind my asking."

Where the Doctor had seemed open before, now he had closed himself off. For some reason, he didn't want to talk about it. "How are your accommodations?" he asked, changing the subject. "Are they enough."

"Yes, thank you." Clara had to restrain herself from asking any more about either the war, or the fact that the house she was now working in belonged to the late Williams family.

"The other day, I heard your surprise at finding out who this house belonged to." Clara froze. So he had heard her little outburst. The Doctor chuckled. "It's alright, Clara. I'm not mad about it. The fact is that I married the Williams' daughter. When they died, I inherited the estate. They were just such good friends that I keep their crest in the house."

"I see." Clara was at a loss after that. She didn't know where to go from there.

The Doctor stood up. "Clara, I know that you've probably undergone some very nasty treatment from some very nasty people, but believe me when I say that I understand all that you have undergone. I know that it seems strange, but it is true. You'll just have to believe me.

"When I bought you at the auction, I told you that I did it out of compassion. This is true also. You will be treated only with kindness here. Feel free to look around the entire house if you wish, but you will not find a single whip or beating rod; no tools used for punishment of any kind. Of course, this comes with the understanding that you won't cause any trouble, though I doubt that will be a problem from you."

"Of course not."

"Good. I just wanted you to know that. I treat everyone who works under this roof as if the Williams are still alive. You can leave now."

Clara set her tea down, untouched since the Doctor handed it to her, and moved to leave, but stopped just before her hand touched the handle. She turned and looked at the Doctor, who had his back to her as he looked out the window. His attire hadn't changed much since the auction, just the colors of the pants and shirt. Now it was a dark blue shirt with ebony jeans, but they were still boot cut over laced work-boots. With his jacket off and his hands clasped behind his back, Clara saw that the Doctor's broad shoulders were muscular underneath his shirt, and his arms were tight with strength. She blushed when she realized that she was imagining what his chest muscles looked like.

The Doctor turned to see that she was still there, causing Clara to avert her eyes downward, but not before she caught a glimpse of his very fit chest.

"Was there something else, Clara?" he asked. If he knew that Clara had been checking him out, he wasn't letting it on.

"If you don't mind me asking, I was wondering... why do you call yourself the Doctor? Surely you have a name."

"I do have a name. I just choose not to use it." The Doctor turned and looked back out the window. "Ever since I was a boy, I've sought to help people. My family started to call me the Doctor, and soon, the name stuck."

Clara nodded in understanding and left the study, allowing the Doctor to return to whatever thoughts he had been thinking.


	4. Chapter 4

_Kings of Kobol she is beautiful,_ the Doctor thought as he stared out the window of his study. He had spent the better part of the day talking-though he insisted it was more like arguing-with Vashtra about the Celebration Day ball coming up in a little more than a week. Now, he was content to stare out at the sunny day outside, but his mind was preoccupied with the stunningly gorgeous woman that he just shared tea with.

The way her brown hair just seemed to flow off of her head and down her shoulders was unreal to him. She was obviously used to serving indoors by the way she held her bearing, but she had been worked in fields or some other type of manual labor, he could tell. Despite her small frame, the Doctor could see that her muscles were well toned. The more and more he thought about her, the more and more he found himself thinking about marrying her. But no, that would be impossible.

The laws of the nation of Gallifrey expressly forbade slaves being freed at all, let alone marry their masters. If you were born a slave, you were stuck a slave. There was no other options. But then again, hadn't Amy and Rory gone up against the same laws so that he could marry their daughter.

The Doctor closed his eyes and tried to hold back the tears as the memories came back to him. He could still feel the heat of the fires from the forges and the pain of the whip as it struck his back, whether or not he had done something wrong. Every day was the same in the forges. Get up early, work yourself to death beating hot metal into swords and shields for the war effort, eat terrible food, get beaten yourself, go to bed, and repeat the cycle the next morning.

After the Battle of Trenzalore, when the people of Gallifrey finally won the war against the Dalek nation of Skaro, the slaves who worked in the forges were to be killed. They were of no further use to the people of Gallifrey, and their conditions were technically illegal according to the laws that Rassilon had enacted to protect slaves during the war. If one were to survive, they could go to Rassilon and convict the masters. Death was the only answer.

The line was long as slaves marched to their deaths, but one boy, by the identification of Slave 24601, ran out of the line and through the forges, chased through the fields until he was able to lose his pursuers in the canyons. The boy was only ten years old. He trekked across dozens of miles, until he found himself at a slave auction in Arcadia. Gallifrey's second city. The boy was bought by a young woman of about 25, with the reddest of hair he had ever seen.

"Hello," she had said when he was brought before her. Her accent was northern, if the boy wasn't mistaken, which wasn't very often. The woman knelt down, even though she was getting mud all over the skirt of her dress. She looked into the boy's brown eyes, which she could tell had seen so much more than they had any right to see.

"My name is Amelia," she told the boy. "Amelia Pond. What's your name?"

Automatically, the boy responded, "24601."

"You mean you don't have a name? Like a proper name?" The boy shook his head. "Well then, I guess we'll have to change that then, won't we?" Amelia smiled and stood, offering her hand to the young boy. For some reason, the boy took it, even though he knew that wasn't how slaves were supposed to act for their owners. There was something about this woman that was different though. She was kind, caring. She got mud on her dress just so that she could look into his eyes, and wanted to give him a name. That was different than everything the boy knew.

The red-haired woman led him to a coach where a short, stumpy man stood, opening the door for Miss Pond when she approached. "Strax," she said to the man, "take us to the shopping district. We need to get some proper clothes for our latest addition."

"Right away, ma'am."

Amelia helped the boy into the coach and got in herself. In an hour, the boy was wearing clothes that were fitted to him personally, and were made of materials he had never felt before in his life. "There," Amelia said, kneeling down in front of him once more. "You look much better now, you Raggedy Boy." She ruffled the boy's dark brown hair and stood up, taking his hand again.

They rode up to the grandest of buildings that the boy had ever seen. Perfect green grass, beautiful flowers, and tall trees. Still holding onto Amelia's hand, the boy walked up the stone steps to the front doors, where a young boy of about thirteen or fourteen opened them.

"So, your father is letting you be butler for a day, is he, Jack?" the woman asked.

The boy smiled. "Yes ma'am," he said. "He said that if I did a good job today, he might let me do it more often."

"Well, I look forward to when you will be walking around these halls doing everything your father is doing today."

"What's your name?" Jack asked, the boy.

"24601," he said.

"What, you don't have a name?"

The boy shook his head.

"Don't worry, Jack. We'll be changing that soon. Come on, Raggedy Boy. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family." Amelia took the boy throughout the rest of the house, introducing him to the rest of her "family", which included nearly a dozen servants from different regions. All of them asked him his name, to which he always answered, "24601."

Eventually, Amelia took the young boy to meet her husband, Rory Williams. Amy laughed and explained that it was a joke between them that his real name was Rory Pond, like her.

Rory looked at the boy with a smile on his face. "And who exactly are you," he asked nicely.

"Slave 24601."

Amelia looked down at the boy and asked him, "If you could pick any name in the world, what would it be?"

"Doctor," he said. "I wanna be the Doctor."

Rory looked as if he was going to protest, but Amelia gave him a stern look before looking down to the boy again. "I think that's a wonderful name, Doctor." She ruffled his hair. "If you want to be called the Doctor, then we'll all call you the Doctor. But you'll always be the Raggedy Boy to me."

The Doctor let the memory of Amy Pond fade from his mind. Her legacy had been forever a part of his life. She had never raised her voice at him, never once threatened to beat him, and had always listened to him whenever he had a nightmare from the forges. She had really been more like a mother to him than a mistress.

The Doctor found himself wondering what Amy would have thought of Clara. More than likely, she would have loved the twenty-five year old brunette. What would have Melody thought of her? He didn't have to wonder about that last part very long. Instantly, the letter she had written to her husband in the event she died came to his mind.

Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled the yellowed piece of paper out and held it reverently in his hands. He read it over once more, even though he had memorized what his beloved wife had written a long time ago. She had talked about how much she loved him, ever since they met as children. She had been away visiting relatives when he first arrived, but when they had met, she claimed that she was instantly smitten with him. She had written the letter to tell him that, despite how much they loved each other, she wanted him to move on from her, now that she was dead.

"I want you to find another woman," she had said, "one that you truly love. I don't care if you have to break the law to marry a slave like my parents did to allow us to marry, I want you to find another wife. I'm dead, you don't need to feel loyal to me anymore. And we both know that you can't be alone. We had many wonderful times, Doctor, and I wouldn't go back to change any of them. But, as much as we hate to admit it to ourselves, this is our last page together. That doesn't mean you have to set the pen down. Keep it in your hand, find a new woman to write more of your story. Goodbye, Sweetie."

Placing the letter back in the drawer, the Doctor wiped the tears from his eyes. Melody was right. He had been alone for too long. But that didn't change his situation. He was a master, and she was a slave. But, then again, he was a still a slave too.

"Look down. Look down.

You'll always be a slave.

Look down. Look down.

You're standing in your grave."

The Doctor sang the lyrics to the song he had learned in the forges all those years ago. Shortly before he had married Melody, Amy had effectively erased all traces of the slave that was 24601. All there was left was the Doctor: widower to Melody Pond and heir to the William's estate. Could it be possible for him to do the same thing to Clara? He could, Vashtra had been around when Amy erased 24601; she would know how to do the same thing to Clara. Only one thing kept the Doctor from calling Vashtra and having her begin the process was a simple question: did Clara love the Doctor as much as he loved her?

For now, it seemed that the answer was no. It was forbidden for slaves to love their masters as the Doctor had loved Melody. If Clara did love him, he would have to make absolutely sure of it before he went around erasing any trace of her life. For now, there as a ball to plan.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara picked her pen up and started her writing once more. She and Jenny had been tasked with filling out the invitations to the ball since their handwriting was the nicest. When Vashtra had given them the assignment, Clara had giggled with how familiar Clara and Vashtra had acted.

"Are you two... you know?" she had asked Jenny when they were alone.

"Goodness, no," she exclaimed. "We're just really good friends. Sisters, really. We've worked together for a long time in a lot of different houses. People keep on asking that though. I'll tell you what else they ask, they keep asking if Jack is that way too."

"And he's not?"

Jenny shook her head. "No. Y'see, people started asking that after they saw him with his brother, Alonzo. He explained that he and his brother were just really close growing up. There's nothing between them, and there's nothing between me and Vashtra."

Clara nodded her head in understanding and went back to writing. She only stopped when she heard heavy footsteps going down the hallway. Looking up, she saw through the open door that the same cruel man who had bid on her no more than three weeks earlier, the one Vashtra had identified as the Master, was stalking through the hallways with Vashtra right behind her.

"Clara," she stopped and said, "run down to the kitchen and get some coffee for our guest and the Doctor." Clara nodded and obeyed, bringing the tray to the study.

She opened the door to see the Master talking to the Doctor. "My good, sir," he was saying, "I understand that you may not think it necessary, but Lord Rassilon will require some extra protection." The Master's sandy blonde hair was cut in military fashion and his chin was clean shaven. Underneath his long coat, Clara could see that he wore the insignia of a marshal in the Gallifreyan military.

"I will not object to whatever you may deem necessary, but I will not hire any additional security. If Rassilon doesn't feel safe, he can bring his own troops. I'm already paying for everything else."

"Fair enough. With that understanding, I shall leave and prepare Lord Rassilon's escort." The Master turned to leave, but turned back to the Doctor. "You seem familiar," he said. "I swear that you look like a slave that escaped the forges many years ago."

Clara looked at the Doctor who simply smiled quaintly at that. "Do I?"

"Yes. It was fifteen years ago now. I've been looking for him ever since. He has evaded me this whole time."

"Well, if you haven't been able to find him, he's probably dead. If he is alive, then I pity him. Would you care to stay for coffee, Master?"

"No, thank you. I have my own plans to get to." The Master executed a perfect about-face and exited the study without so much as a glance in Clara's direction, for which, she was grateful.

"You can leave that there, Clara," the Doctor said, indicating the tray in her hands with a dip of his head. "I'll have some in a bit, you can go back to work." Clara obeyed and left, shutting the door behind her. It was a curious thing, what she had just witnessed. How could the Master say that the Doctor looked like an escaped slave. It was beyond her ability to comprehend. Despite that, she went back to the room where Jenny was still filling out the invitations and got back to work with her.


	6. Chapter 6

The day of the ball finally came, and as much as the Doctor hated it, he put on his tuxedo and joined the throng of people in the main halls of the house. He had a glass of champagne in his hand as he milled about the different members of the aristocracy of Gallifrey. The women were dressed in the "latest fashions" as they called it. The Doctor called it unnecessary fluff.

Ever since Melody's death, many of the "eligible" ladies had tried to come onto him, and tonight was no exception. Lady Christina de Suza, Madame de Pompadour, even Duchess Elizabeth all tried to impress him with their eligibility. They failed. The way they lived their lives didn't impress the Doctor. There was only one woman he would even consider sharing his life with, and she was currently walking around with a tray of hors d'oeuveres.

The servant's dresses hadn't changed, despite the occasion, but to the Doctor, Clara Oswald looked like she was a member of royalty herself. What the Doctor wouldn't have given to be able to just get down on one knee and propose to her right then and there. That wouldn't do though, not with Rassilon himself at the ball.

Uncomfortable with the whole situation, he found himself waiting for a time when he could politely excuse himself from everything and hide in his study. That was when he saw a servant whisper into the Master's ear. The Master clinked his glass to get everyone's attention. The Doctor could feel the pace of his heart quickening. The Master had been the one who had beaten him so mercilessly in the forges. Any time he was anywhere near the Master, he feared that the man might identify him as Slave 24601. So far, that hadn't happened, but anything was possible.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, loud and clear. "I am pleased to announce that I have just received word that a slave who escaped many years ago has just been identified."

"That's very good news, Master," Lord Rassilon said. "What is the identity of this slave, if we may ask."

"He's a slave who escaped work in the forges during the Time War, Lord President." The Doctor felt his pulse quickening. The entire night, he thought he felt the Master's gaze on him. Now he understood why. The Master had recognized him, just as he feared. "His name," the Master continued, "is Slave 24601. As we speak he is being attached to the beating poles in the public square for summary execution. If you all would be so kind as to direct your attention to the media screen."

The Master set a holo-projector on the table and displayed the man who he claimed was Slave 24601. That was when the Doctor realized that the Master hadn't recognized him. He honestly believed that the man on the beating poles was 24601. The Doctor allowed himself a small smile. After this, he would never have to fear being caught again. The government would never look for him after this, not after they thought they killed him.

But just as quickly as he smile sprouted on his face did it fade. Amy would have been ashamed of those thoughts. Just before she died of the same disease that had taken her husband, she had made him promise that he would never be cruel or cowardly; that he would never give up or give in. He had done his best to keep that promise, but now, as the executioner waited for the Master's order to beat the man to death, he realized that he had failed Amy by even thinking about letting this man take the blame.

But what could he do. If he were exposed as an escaped and then freed slave, he would be killed on the spot. Then what would happen to the servants in his house? What would happen to Clara? Clenching and unclenching his fists, the Doctor steadied himself for what he was about to do.

_"Waiting your orders, sir,"_ the man with the whip said.

Just before the Master could give the order to begin, the Doctor rushed forward into the small circle of people at the center of the room. "Wait! Stop! Let him go!" Everybody looked at him as if he had gone mad. "You have the wrong man. The man on those beating posts is not Slave 24601." The Doctor swallowed hard. "I am Slave 24601."


	7. Chapter 7

Clara couldn't believe it. It was that simple. She couldn't believe it. There was no way that the Doctor was an escaped slave.

"It's true," he said, still addressing the people of the party. "When I was a boy, I was a worker in the forges. After the Time War was over, I escaped, not because I feared work, but because I feared death. We were mistreated in the forges." The Doctor lifted his finger and pointed at the Master. "This man," he shouted, "beat every single one of us every day, whether or not we had done anything wrong. Death to us was a mercy. We would lie on our thin cots every night, our backs bleeding and hearts ripped to shreds, and we would beg for death to grant us its sweet kiss. When one of us did die, we were jealous. They were the lucky ones.

"After Trenzalore, the Master and the other slave masters lined us all up and started to shove us into the fires of the forges. I broke from the line and lost my pursuers in the canyons. Shortly after, I was purchased by the Williams family. They took me in and gave me something I never had before: family." Everybody was silent as the Doctor spoke, not daring to say a word until he was finished.

"Eventually, I fell in love with their daughter, and they did something nobody else had done before: they freed me." Everyone in the room gasped. "They erased all traces of Slave 24601. They made it seem like he had died in the forges. All that was left was the man called the Doctor, the man who married their daughter. The Williams broke the law so that I could have a life. If anyone is to be punished, it should not be that man on the screen." The Doctor was silent now, his tale apparently finished. Rassilon was the first to speak.

"I passed laws before the Time War that all slaves were to be treated fairly if they worked in a way that helped the war effort. What proof do you have that you were mistreated?"

The Doctor responded by throwing his coat on the ground and quickly unbuttoning his shirt. When he finally unfastened it, he tore it off and exposed his upper torso to the entire room. Everyone gasped at the sight, even Clara.

The first thing to run through Clara's mind was how cut the Doctor was. He had chiseled chest muscles and abs, but the most prominent thing on his body was the scars. They were all over him: his chest, his stomach, and especially his back. It was hard to tell what parts were scar-tissue and what parts were actual feeling skin. It was apparent that both the whip and the rod had left their marks on the Doctor. But the worst sight of all was the brand in the upper corner of his left peck. It was a simple string of numerals that clearly read "24601".

Rassilon looked ready to pop from anger. He couldn't believe that somebody had mistreated a slave when he had done what he could to protect them.

"He's lying, Lord President," the Master shouted. "He was one of the most troublesome servants I had to deal with. Those beatings were all deserved."

"I was ten years old," the Doctor shouted back. "The forges were all I knew, I didn't resist. I had no choice."

"Enough!" It was Rassilon who was speaking now. "Guards, seize the Master." Rassilon's guards obeyed, despite the Master's objections. "Master, for crimes against human beings, I hereby sentence you to the same fate you subjected them to. You will be beaten until your body is covered in wounds, and then you will be cast into the same fires you cast your slaves into." Rassilon waved his hand and the guards took the Master away, kicking and screaming.

Rassilon looked at the Doctor. "I hereby grant you your pardon, 24601. You are no longer a slave. You are a truly free man. You will retain the Williams estate, as you did legally marry their daughter. And... as penance for my ignorance, I hereby decree that slaves no longer have to remain slaves. If their masters wish to free them, they may."

"Lord Rassilon," somebody called out, "why would we do that? Slaves are treated well enough, we don't need to give them any more."

"Look down. Look down.

Don't look him in the eye," the Doctor sang

Look down. Look down.

You're here until you die.

"These are the words the slaves sing today. I learned them in the forges, but I still here them on their lips to this day. I was once one of them, begging for somebody to look down upon my misery and lift me up from it. When I saw that would never happen, I decided to be the one who looked down.

"Look up, and see

I too was once a slave," he started to sing again. The tune was the same, but Clara knew that he had made these words himself.

"Look up, and know

I crawled up from my grave.

"I looked down, and showed

some mercy 'cause I dared.

I looked down, and gave

some show of mercy's stare.

"I looked down, and saw

the beggars at my feet.

I looked down, and gave

them all their fill of meat.

"I looked down, and stared

upon my fellow man.

I looked down, and gave

them all that they could have."

Clara's hand covered her mouth. In that moment, she knew that the Doctor was telling the truth. Only someone who was a slave could have known what he was talking about.

"It's for that reason," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "that as of this moment, I am freeing all those who work in this house." All the Doctor's servants murmured to themselves. "Any and all who wish to continue working will receive wages and may keep their jobs, but those who wish to leave may leave without question. As for the rest of you, get out of my house!" The people were too quick to oblige. The sea of people kept their distance from the scar covered man who stood in the center of the room. When the hall was clear, the Doctor sprinted up the steps and quickly walked to his study, where Clara could hear the door slam.

She was free now. She wanted to leave, but at the same time, she didn't. She didn't want to leave the Doctor. _No, bad brain!_ she shouted to herself. _You can't love him!_

_But you do. And you can._ Clara's eyes started to water a bit. _He's freed you now. You can love him._ Clara could only run to her room and shut the door. Curling up into a ball on her bed, she cried. That was all she could do. Cry. She had only been here for a few weeks and in that time, she had fallen in love with the Doctor. But she couldn't. Could she?

Her door opened and Madame Vashtra came in. Clara sat up wiping the tears from her eyes, but Vashtra waved her down. "I haven't come to order you. I've come to talk as equals." Vashtra sat down next to Clara. "I want you to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them in one word only. Do you understand?" Clara nodded. "Are you really sad?"

"No."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes."

"Of freedom?"

"No."

"Of what then?"

Clara was silent for a minute before she answered. "Love," she whispered.

"Love?"

"Yes."

"Do you love the Doctor?" Clara didn't answer. Vashtra placed her hand on top of Clara's. "It's alright if you do. Remember, he was a slave that fell in love with his mistress."

Clara thought about Vashtra's words. It was true; the Doctor had fallen in love with Melody Williams when he was still a slave. What was keeping her from loving the Doctor? "Scared," she whispered, still giving singular answers per Vashtra's request.

"You shouldn't be scared, Clara. He loves you with all his heart. I've seen it. All you have to do is go to him and ask him. He will not hesitate to tell you how much he truly cares about you."

Clara looked at Vashtra, as if to ask permission to leave.

"Go, Clara. Go and see for yourself."

Clara got up and made her way to the Doctor's study. When she arrived at the dark wooden doors, she hesitated. He had been very upset when he left the hall. Should she disturb him like this? Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on the door.

"Go away, Vashtra," she heard the Doctor shout.

"It's Clara, sir," she replied. "Madame Vashtra has not sent me at all. I've come by my own choice. I would like to talk to you about something." Silence.

"Come in." Clara opened the door and saw that the Doctor had changed to his normal jeans and shirt. He stood in front of the fire, his back to the window which displayed the starry night outside. In his hand was a glass of some alcohol that Clara had noticed on the desk before. "What was it you wanted to talk about, Clara?"

"I... I..." Clara faltered. She couldn't find the courage to say the words. "Do you love me," came out the feeble whisper. The Doctor turned to look at her. For a moment, Clara wished that she could freeze time to stare at him. The firelight danced in his chocolate eyes, giving almost a mystic look to them. His hair reflected the oranges from the flames, and his shirt was just tight enough for her to see his chest muscles underneath it.

"Yes, Clara," he said. "I do love you." Clara didn't quite know how to respond to that. To hear Vashtra say it was one thing, but to hear the Doctor say it was another.

Turning, Clara was about to run when the Doctor reached out and gently grabbed her arm. "Clara, wait. Please, just listen to me." Clara obeyed, standing still while the Doctor talked. "After Melody died, I didn't think I could ever find love again, even though she had left me a letter saying that she wanted me to. When I met you, I actually thought that I had found a woman worth loving all over again. I love you, Clara. I love you so much, and I want to share every day of my life with you."

"I can't," Clara cried. "I can't. I'm a slave."

"No you're not. Not any more. I freed everyone, including you. Please, Clara. I'm begging you."

Clara couldn't bring herself to say yes. It was just too hard for her to even think that she could have a different life than what she had now.

The Doctor pulled on her arm, turning her to face him. She complied, but she refused to meet his gaze.

"Look up, and see

what I hold in my hand.

Look up, and claim

the future you can have."

He was singing softer now. Same tune, but his tone had changed. He was no longer looking to prove who he was, but tell her something important.

Clara looked up at the Doctor and saw that in his hand, he held the traditional engagement ring of the royal family. It was a beautiful thing: a gold band with a single blue sapphire, rimmed by diamonds. The ring was passed on from Williams-to-Williams, only to be given to the woman that the eldest son wished to marry.

"Look up, and see

the truth within my eyes.

Look up, and know

that now I tell no lies.

"Look up, and know

the love I have for you.

Look up, and tell

me if you feel it too."

Clara looked up into the Doctor's eyes and she could tell that this was the truth. He genuinely loved her. And in that moment, she realized she truly loved him too. The young man who had purchased her from the cruel traders at the slave auction had at first done so out of compassion, but now offered her a life she had never known out of love-pure and unadulterated.

Trembling, Clara lifted her hand and let the Doctor slide the ring onto her finger. It was a little big, but it fit well enough. Clara was struggling to find the words to say when the Doctor leaned his face down and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was light at first, but Clara leaned into the Doctor, gently taking his wrists and putting his hands on her waist while she thread hers around his neck.

To the Doctor, nothing was anything like kissing Clara. Her lips tasted faintly of strawberries and felt like silk. He ran his tongue against her bottom lip, gently asking for permission. She gave it, opening her lips further and snaking her tongue around his. They searched each other's mouths like that for a good five minutes before they finally had to part and breathe.

Clara rested her head against the Doctor's chest, listening to the beat of his heart. The steady "thump-thump" of the organ helped her to pace her thoughts, and the smell of his leather jacket had a soothing effect on her. She was perfectly content to stay there forever in the Doctor's arms.

The Doctor shared that sentiment. Her hair smelt like peaches and the way she was pressed against him made it seem like they were two halves of a whole; that they were incomplete without each other. The Doctor remembered thinking that there was something special about this girl when he first acquired her at the slave auction. Vashtra had started calling her the Impossible Girl, due to how she had survived despite the impossible odds, but the Doctor knew that Vashtra meant something else whenever she said that. Now, he knew what. She was the Impossible Girl, because she had done the impossible: she had made the Doctor fall in love all over again. That was enough.


	8. Chapter 8

Amelia Oswald was jumping on her bed, her long brown hair bouncing all around. It was time for bed, but she wasn't tired at all, so she decided to try to burn off some of her extra energy. It was at that point her parents came in.

"Amelia Ellie Oswald," her mother shouted. Amelia ceased jumping immediately. "You know better than to jump on your bed."

"Yeah," her father agreed. "By now I thought you would have learned that you can't jump on your bed without me up there with you." With that, the Doctor hopped up onto the bed and started to jump with his daughter. Clara couldn't help but roll her eyes. Between her husband and daughter, it felt like she was in a house with two little children.

"Alright, you two, that's enough," Clara hollered at them. Once the Doctor climbed off the bed, he peeled back the covers and allowed his daughter to get in before he pulled them up around her.

"Tell me a story, Daddy," little Amelia exclaimed.

The Doctor smiled warmly. "If I tell you a story, will you promise to go to sleep?" Amelia nodded her head emphatically. "Alright." The Doctor sat on the edge of the bed and prepared to spin a tale. "Once upon a time, there was a young boy who was a slave. He worked in the forges during the Time War."

"I've been learning about the Time War at school," Amelia said excitedly.

"You have? Well, then that will make this story that much better. Now, this slave worked hard beating hot metal into swords and shields for the soldiers of Gallifrey even though he was only ten years old. He worked hard so that he could please his masters and not get beaten. But he was still beaten because the masters were cruel.

"After the war was over, he ran away because he didn't want to die like many of the other slaves had. Eventually, he was purchased by a very nice lady and her husband. He started to work for her, and eventually, he met their daughter. She was the first girl his age he had met, and he thought she was beautiful. The slave and the daughter talked for hours together, and they ended up falling in love with each other, but the laws of Gallifrey said that they couldn't be in love with each other.

"But the daughter's parents wanted her to be happy, so they made it seem like they had gotten rid of the slave, and made him a new identity so that they could get married."

"Did they get married, Daddy?"

"Yes, they did. And for two wonderful years they were together. Unfortunately, the woman died. She was a scientist who worked inside an ancient library, and the passage collapsed because it was so old. Eventually, she ran out of air and died."

"What happened to the slave?"

"Well, he and the parents of the woman were very sad. Eventually, the parents died of a disease, but the slave lived. And before she died, she made the slave promise her that he would never be cruel or cowardly. That he would never give up, and never give in. The slave promised, and the woman made sure that he inherited all her money. She died a day later.

"After the funeral, they slave was declared the owner of the family's entire estate, which made him very rich. Do you want to know what he did with his money?"

"Tell me, tell me!"

"Alright, alright. Hold your horses. He went to the slave auctions and bought the slaves that looked sick or weak. He took them back to his house and made sure that they were taken care of. Not long after, the slave found a letter that his wife had written him before she died. In the letter, the woman said that she wanted him to find another wife and fall in love again. But the slave was so sad that he didn't think he could. For three years he stayed alone. It wasn't until he bought another slave that he started to fall in love again.

"You see, this new slave was a beautiful woman who had been beaten almost as much as he had when he was young. He bought her, and brought her to his house where he took care of her. Eventually, he realized that he was falling in love with her, and was thinking about doing the same thing that his wife's parents had done for him; making it seem like she was gone, but marrying her instead."

"What happened?"

"Well, before he could do that, he had to throw a big Celebration Day party at his house. And one man who came to that party was the same man who had beaten him all those years ago. This man came before Lord Rassilon, who was also there, and said that he'd found the escaped slave from the forges.

"At first, the slave was scared, but then he saw that the man thought it was somebody else. The slave relaxed as he realized he wouldn't have to be scared anymore. But then he remembered the promise he made to the lady who bought him. So instead of letting the man die, he jumped in front of everybody and told them that he was the slave that escaped the forges."

"What happened next?"

The Doctor smiled at his daughter's wide-eyed expression. "Rassilon asked him why he escaped, and the slave told him because he was being beaten every day for nothing. He showed them the scars, and Rassilon took the man away to punish him for beating the slave so much. Then, he made a new law, saying that any slave who could purchase his freedom would be free, and masters could free their slaves whenever they wanted.

"The slave then told all his slaves that they were free to go, but none of them wanted to leave. He was so nice to him that they never wanted to go. So the slave made sure that he paid them wages, and treated them like employees instead of slaves."

"What about the beautiful woman he wanted to marry?"

"She came to the slave and asked him if he really did love her. The slave said yes, and he asked her to marry him. At first, she wouldn't. It was too strange. She had been a slave all her life, for her to be anything else was hard for her to except.

"But before she could say 'No', the slave sang a special song, one that proved how much he loved her. After hearing that song, she said 'Yes'."

"And they got married and lived happily ever after?"

"That's right, princess. At least they have so far." The Doctor got off the bed and pulled the covers to Amelia's chin.

"Daddy," she asked, "what was the slave's name?"

The Doctor kissed her forehead. "They called him Slave 24601 in the forges, but after he ran way, he started to call himself something else."

"What did he call himself?"

The doctor smiled, kissed his daughter once more and whispered in her ear, "The Doctor." Standing up, the Doctor shut the door to his daughter's room and left her to dream.


	9. Epilogue

The grass was dry, but the clouds above were grey. Rain was a definite possibility. Wind whipped at the Doctor's brown hair and jacket as he looked down at the two grave markers in front of him. The one on the left was marked with the names "Rory and Amelia Williams" while the one on the left said "Melody Williams".

The Doctor fought tears back as a spring of emotions welled up inside him. "Hey, Amy," he said, addressing the air as if that red-headed woman from his past was standing in front of him. "I know it's been a while since I came to talk to you, but life's been busy. I almost got caught a while back. I was close to letting another man take the blame for what I had done. It was only the promise I made to you that stopped me from doing so. He's alive, and I'm free. Rassilon made sure of that. I just wanted you to know that I still haven't forgotten that promise. I live by it every day."

Turning to the marker on the right, the Doctor spoke once more. "And don't think I've forgotten about you, Sweetie. You'll love to hear that I've gotten married again. A few years ago, actually. I should have told you sooner, but I got caught up. We have a daughter now. Little Amelia. She's five years old, going on six now. She's got me and her mom in her, but I'll tell you one thing, her name is certainly appropriate." The wind picked up around him, as if Amelia Pond was cross with that comment.

"You know it's true, Amy. You were as much a spit-fire as my daughter, don't deny it. Anyway, I just wanted you guys to know. Oh, and Melody... you were right. It's not good for me to be alone. Just know that... I'll never forget you. I love Clara, but I'll always love you too."

The Doctor turned from the graves and walked back to the house in the distance. One song had ended, but the story hadn't. 24601 was dead. Now, all that was left was the Doctor. And he had a family to be with.


End file.
